


Won't Waste a Minute Without You

by t0bemadeofglass



Series: Mini Prompts [6]
Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Background Stony - Freeform, M/M, Truth Serum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:47:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0bemadeofglass/pseuds/t0bemadeofglass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just maybe it was Tony's fault that the truth serum wound up in Phil Coulson and Clint Barton's cups of coffee that morning; it was definitely his fault, however, that they got locked into a room together for twenty-four hours to explore the truth of their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Won't Waste a Minute Without You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KCUrquhart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KCUrquhart/gifts).



> This is definitely dedicated to Kim, who has a serious love for Truth Serum!Phlint, and therefore gave me the idea. I can't blame her--they're adorable, bless these broken boys.   
> Kinda fluffy? Not quite sure what to say about this besides the fact that it's the first time I've ever written anything involving Truth Serum, so I hope it doesn't suck too badly.   
> Title comes from the song "Open Your Eyes" by Snow Patrol. Favorite song for this couple, ever.   
> This is also the fifth fic of my fifty fic challenge. Buahaha! Ten percent done!  
> Enough of my rambling--enjoy!

Tony smiles as he offers Phil the mug of coffee.  “You look like you’ve had a hell of a night, Agent,” he murmurs, keeping his voice down the way he knew Phil prefers, especially after a night like the one he seemed to have had.  Phil’s glare is more than worth it as he pushes away the coffee.

“No offense, Mr. Stark, but I’m not inclined to accept anything from you except paperwork for the next three months.”  

Tony’s groan is anguished, though he knows it’s what he deserves.  Doesn’t mean he has to like it.  Ass.  “But Phiil,” he whines.  “I got you what you wanted for so long!  Didn’t I?”

“Two months.”

****

**Twenty-Four Hours Ago**

****

Tony offered Phil a mug of freshly brewed coffee after perhaps having dumped maybe a little too much truth-serum into it.  It was a new compound he and Bruce had been working on, long lasting but nothing that was too special; just enough to give the good old Agent here the push he needed in the right direction.  Barton sat on his other side, already drinking his own truth-serum laced girly drink of some kind, the concoction far too sweet for Tony to even think of stomaching.  He watched them drink, trying to keep his own interest veiled, though he had a feeling they knew.  It didn’t matter much; the promise of good coffee (because Tony settled for nothing but the best) was too great, and within minutes they’d both drained their mugs.

That meant he had just under a minute to get to phase two.  A wide grin spreading on his face he commented that he had something he wanted the pair of them to check out.  “A new, better way of communicating while on mission.  You don’t have to worry about the com system going down like it did in Monte Carlo again.”  

Phil looked interested while Barton gave a soft groan.  “How many times do I have to tell you that that wasn’t my fault?”

“As many as you want, princess, but that doesn’t mean that they can’t be improved.  Those things are ancient.”

“They were developed just a year before Manhattan.” Clint defended.

“Exactly.  Ancient.  Now c’mon boys before something else pops up.”  Hah.  He was so funny.  Phil followed Tony, which Tony knew meant Clint would come as well, whether the Hawk wanted to or not.  He was so attached to his handler it was nearly comical, but wasn’t that why they were there in the first place, in this situation?  Because neither one of these men had the cojones to admit to the other how they felt?  That’s why Tony was there at least.

Silly boys and their emotion--Tony had come right out and told Steve he wanted him the night after Manhattan.  Then again he was high on adrenaline and delicious Arabic food.  Phil had been recovering, Clint by his side.  Maybe it had come out then, while the prior was still knocked out.  Tony would have to check the footage.

Either way, Tony hadn’t really done anything to the comms.  Well, not yet.  He might have to look into it now that he thought about it.  What was waiting for the pair, however, was a mini-suite that Tony had had designed for occasions such as this (because one never knew when an intervention was necessary), complete with mini-fridge, television, and the biggest, most comfortable bed money could buy.  Well, maybe not as big as Tony’s, but certainly big enough for these two.  

They would be stuck in there for twenty-four hours whether they liked it or not, and once the truth serum caught on they would have no choice but to admit to one another that their attraction to the other was mutual.  They’d kiss, makeup, and Tony would undoubtedly have to burn the sheets once they found out that they were practically perfect for one another and ripped the room apart in the time forced to spend together.  

It was brilliant.  He should have been given a medal of achievement for the plan considering he’d come up with it of his own volition.  Neither of the men had a single clue what was waiting for them, and when they finally got there he shoved the pair in and shut the door tight without another word.  Jarvis locked down the doors as Tony had practiced with him a few times, reinforced the strength of the hinges of the door and windows (and honestly they were up over twenty feet--Tony had a feeling neither agent was suicidal) and the doors were too thick for them to break through.

He hoped.  Maybe he should’ve gotten the Hulk to try them.  

From within the now locked room Clint was swearing.  “What the fuck is this, Stark?  What’re you doing?”  

“Trying to get you two to pull your heads out of your asses and realize what’s in front of you.  You’ve got a bathroom, premium cable with all the on-demand porn you could hope for, and a mini kitchen.  You’re fine; just consider this a twenty-four hour vacation.  Have fuuun.”  He sing-songed the last word before cackling and skipping off.  No, walking off.  Tony Stark did not skip.  

Okay maybe just this once.

* * *

It took the pair of them all of half a minute to realize what had really happened, and Phil was murmuring the different ways he was going to make Tony suffer while Clint was doing his best to see if he couldn’t get through the ceiling.  No, Jarvis had even taken his bird-like ways into account and there was no plausible way of Clint getting through and escaping that way.  

“What the hell is the point of this, anyway?” Clint demanded, huffing as he sat down on the bed.  His eyes moved to Phil, who was slowly shrugging off his suit-jacket and unbuttoning his cuffs.  The agent was meticulous, fingers moving slowly as he worked the buttons from the small holes in such a way that made Clint’s mouth water.  Woah.  Nope.  Not okay.  

“I think it’s because Stark knows that you and I have been bouncing around one another for years and he’s finally gotten it into his head that he’s going to do something about it.”

The words made them both stop and for the first time Clint saw Phil’s eyes fill with fear and surprise.  

“Why did I say that?”

“Son of a bitch,” Clint muttered.  “I saw Stark and Banner working on a truth serum.  Did you get your coffee from him this morning?”

“Yes.  You did too?”

“Bastard drugged us.”

Phil began again with the nasty threats and Clint groaned.  “Stop talking about how you’re going to sit him down at your desk and make him do paperwork.  You’re turning me on--.”

Fuck.  He covered his mouth up too late and Phil’s eyes widened further as he turned to look at him.  

“Really?  You think about me that way?”

“All the damn time,” Clint muttered behind his hand.  Phil’s expression turned exasperated but left it at that.  If Clint was embarrassed about it then he wasn’t going to push it, truth serum or not.  He took a seat at the small table that Tony had provided them, likely for dinner, and complained for a moment about the paperwork he was missing out on doing that day.  Vacation his ass--he was going to have to do more work because of Stark.  Damn him.  

Clint’s eyes hardly left his handler, watching as the older man stretched slowly, muscles shifting beneath his button up shirt.  He’d like to take the buttons off one by one, he thought.  With his teeth.  He was good at that, he’d learned a lot from the circus workers he’d called family and I’d be more than happy to do that to you Phil if you really want me to--.

He didn’t realize until he caught Phil’s gaze once more that he’d been saying his whole inner monologue out loud.  Cheeks turning pink he turned away and buried his head under one of the pillows left on the bed.  Ohhh shit this was not happening.  ‘Please tell me it isn’t happening.’  

“Are you a fan of button-ups?”

“Not really.  There’s too much work that goes into undoing them it’s so much easier to rip them off and just get to work.”  Again Clint tried to muffle his words, this time shoving the comforter into his mouth to stop himself from making sense.  He knew it wouldn’t work; Phil was far too great an interpreter of all things, languages understood and not, for it to stop him at all.  After a moment he resurfaced, the head falling from his head as he sat up.

“This isn’t fair--you’re asking all the questions and getting all the answers.”

“So ask me something.”

“Do you like me?”

Silence.  Phil was fighting with the impulse rising in his stomach to answer, the desire so forceful it might as well have been a torture of its own.  First it made his stomach cramp up, then his muscles of his arms and his legs until eventually he had to open his mouth and cry out “Yes, yes I do.  A lot Clint.  I’ve liked you since we picked you up and I think I always will.”

More silence.  It was Phil’s turn to blush as he turned away from the archer to pick at the wood grain of the table in front of him.

“Really?”  The archer’s voice was so quiet and hopeful that Phil wanted to cross over the room and pull him into his arms.

So he did.  Clint felt solid and warm, fitting perfectly in Phil’s grasp as the agent sank his lips to Clint’s.  Hadn’t he learned from Natasha that subtly didn’t work on Clint (learned and never did anything until now)?  That the only way to get an idea or an answer through to him was to just, well, come out and do it?  No time like the present, he supposed.

When he pulled away both of their lips were swollen, their eyes glazed and Phil murmured “Yes.  Really.”  Into the other man's ear.  Clint looked up at him a moment later, eyes filled with some sort of hope shining so brightly it was practically painful to look at, but Phil would have suffered a million times over to see it there.  

The blond man’s lips twisted into a wide grin, and with a huff he attacked the agent, pinning him down beneath his muscled archer’s arms as he their lips crashed together once more.  

Maybe Tony’s punishment wasn’t going to be too bad.  

* * *

“You know how long I’ve liked you, but how long have you felt this way about me?” Phil asked, curious as he looked to Barton.  Their clothing had been thrown around the room in a whirlwind of limbs a few hours ago, and though they’d been frenzied while undressing the lovemaking that had come after was slow, steady, filled with quiet gasps and cries of how much they loved--yes, loved.  They’d made that discovery only a few moments after they’d said it--the other.  It had been perfect and just thinking about it put another smile on Phil’s lips.  

Clint let out a short breath, thinking the question over as he dug his fingers into his partner’s hair, rubbing his scalp in the process.  Phil let out a quiet hum of pleasure, leading Clint to smile and continue the action.  “I don’t know.  For a long time, I guess.  Long enough to have developed serious feelings for you--maybe since Milan.”

“Really?  That long?”

“I’m a sucker for dirty talk through the comm, and you helping me out with what to say to that girl?  Not that I needed it--honestly I just wanted you to tell me what to say.  I faked being afraid to mess up.”

“You sly dog.”

“Mmm, keep going baby,” Clint grinned, turning to prop himself up over Phil, bringing his lips down the agent’s neck where he could bite and suck as he pleased.  The idea that the agent would have these marks for at least a few more days, for everyone to see, set a fire deep in Clint’s stomach that wasn't about to be quenched any time soon.  

* * *

“So why didn’t you tell me?” Phil was standing over the kitchen stove, wearing nothing but what Clint was certain to be the most flowery apron that Stark could find.  It might have been a joke, but Clint was a fan.  It was cute in its own way, especially since he knew that Phil could strangle him with the ties any given second.  

Maybe that was a fantasy for a different day.

They’d been in the room for what must have been over twelve hours, and they were only then getting hungry for food, having spent most of the other half of their day wrapped up in bed.  Now the smell of eggs and bacon and toast filled the room.  It turned out Phil was a bigger fan of breakfast than Clint would’ve thought; he’d only ever seen the agent with a seemingly bottomless mug of coffee during the mornings they worked together.  Not that he was about to complain: he hated cooking and would take the free food whenever he could, especially if it was served by Phil.  

But back to the question, his stomach was reminding him, having twisted itself into knots while he put off answering.  “You were my boss and I never really did well with authority figures, no offense, and I was afraid that you’d find out and hit the high road.  No one wants to work with a partner whose emotions are compromised.”

Silence.  In the hot pan the bacon cracked and popped as if it were a merry fire while Phil kept his attention turned to the stove.  Clint worried that he’d overstepped his boundaries, or that he’d been right.  Emotions were dangerous, and to have finally admitted to feeling some for his handler, well, it wouldn’t have surprised Clint if he did get transfered.  His mood soured for a moment before: “I would never let you get transfered.  No one else would be able to handle you, and I don’t trust any of the others to try.”  Phil’s words were quiet but sincere enough to hold weight even without turning to face the other man.  

Clint smiled, swallowing the lump he didn’t know was growing in his throat.  Oh.  Well that was perfect then.  Even with weak knees he managed to stand and walk towards the agent.  Without a word between them Clint wrapped his arms around Phil’s waist and pulled, holding him so close they might as well have been one person.

“I love you.”  It was the second time the phrase had come out of his mouth and this time it was choked, almost a sob.  Phil didn’t move for a moment, all still muscle and warm skin underneath Clint’s hold, but when he finally shifted it was to bury his face in Clint’s neck and hold him just as tight.  

It was the only time in recorded history Phil Coulson had ever burned anything while cooking (and he’d have done it again in a heartbeat).

****

**Twenty-Four hours later**

****

“Two months.”

Tony just grins and shakes his head.  “So, I take it it was worth it then?  Am I not a genius for having come up with that plan?  And I did it all by myself!”

“And if you do it again I’ll make sure that no one thinks you really existed, that you were just some corporate scam your father’s company came up with and you’ll be left without a penny to your name with the whole world hating you.”

Silence, then: “Damn, Coulson.  You’re scary.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> There's also a likely possibility of exploring what came before, in Milan, when the comms went out as that's another prompt of mine, so stay tuned! I'll be sure to link them one way or another.


End file.
